


Prescription for a Relapse

by Irony_Rocks



Category: Stargate: Atlantis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-11
Updated: 2010-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-12 14:53:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irony_Rocks/pseuds/Irony_Rocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When both Sheppard and Weir continue to suffer short relapses into the mind and memories of Thalan and Pheobus, they're forced to confront intensifying feelings and a whole host of complications.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prescription for a Relapse

* * *

The cafeteria was mostly empty when Elizabeth found it.

She was thankful for the solitude. It had been less than twelve hours since her release from the infirmary, and though Elizabeth knew hardly anyone could hold her responsible for Phoebus' anarchy, that didn't stop the embarrassment from spreading. She felt enough mortification to last a lifetime.

Still, it would do no good to hide out in her office or stew in silence in her quarters. Elizabeth had finally ventured out, because two days in the infirmary being poked and prodded within an inch of her life was enough to make even someone with her patience claustrophobic. She smiled at one of the airmen behind the counter and took the pot of black decaf, pouring herself a cup. When she went to add the sugar and cream, the noise of someone approaching distracted her.

An unidentified voice drifted in, "Well, what did anyone expect? Sheppard knew what he was signing up for. He was probably all too eager, if you ask me. Poor son of a bitch was expecting to make time with Weir, and got caught up in a death feud instead."

They laughed loudly while a new wave of mortification swept through her, but she slipped away before the marines could spot her. God, she didn't want to deal with this — the whispered gossip. People were usually more considerate of being obvious about it; she was the boss, after all. But Elizabeth knew Atlantis like few others, and she'd given them quite a bit of fodder for the rumor mill this week.

It was still another thing to overhear it.

On their own accord, her feet led her back to command control and toward her office. She lingered for a beat, halting at the foot of the grand staircase and staring up at the second floor. People seemed busy, oblivious to her presence. She wasn't cleared for active duty until the morning; Caldwell was still technically in charge. Another thing to add to her foul mood — but no, she couldn't think that. He'd kept Atlantis safe while she'd been doing nothing but try to destroy it. She owed Caldwell her gratitude, as much as it silently pained her to admit it.

Caldwell was a good man; she was just, apparently, a jealous woman when it came to Atlantis.

Caught up in her own musings, she quietly veered left and headed for the balcony. Outside, the fresh breeze was comforting as always. She heard the sliding doors swish closed behind her, and rested her palms on the cold banister, staring out at the dark ocean. A spray of saltwater misted her feet, as waves crashed over and over again against the base of Atlantis.

Elizabeth felt a shiver from the cold air, but out here, she felt better. She felt calm. This place always restored her balance. It was why it was her favorite spot in the entire city. A few minutes passed by without her preoccupied by worry or embarrassment, and Elizabeth closed her eyes, breathing evenly.

 _Fighter pilots, a gun going off, her perverse laughter echoing along a dim hall_.

Elizabeth snapped her eyes open, feeling a wave of dizziness overtake her. The flash of Pheobus' memory danced across her vision and lingered, but she gripped the railings and attempted to regain her equilibrium.

Two days, and she was still getting flashes of insight into the demented mind of Pheobus. They were as abrupt and off-putting as flashes of lightning. Carson assured her they would go away, but Elizabeth wondered if she'd ever really forget them. She couldn't quite sort out the memories, but some things were always constant. Pheobus was a fighter: she knew how to fly, she knew how to shoot, and she relished a fist fight like it was a birthday present come early. Elizabeth tried to shut away the memories, but they haunted her with that same perverse merriment that Pheobus had shown during that one day of havoc in Elizabeth's body.

She knew Thalan's face, his _real_ face — blond hair, blue eyes, the focus of so much hatred and attention. But every time she closed her eyes and pictured him, all Elizabeth saw was John. The feud between Pheobus and Thalan had lasted nearly a decade, but it hadn't always been solely hatred that drove them to such lengths. They had shared an intensely sexual relationship through much of it, before Thalan had put a stop to it. Pheobus hadn't taken the rejection well.

She wished she didn't know these things. It was hard enough dealing with her subordinates' snickering, or Caldwell's posturing, but she really didn't know how to deal with John. The entire situation had muddled the waters, and a part of her now associated Pheobus' intensely sexual feelings for Thalan with John, and that way only led to trouble. With a capital "T." She feared there would now be an added layer of subtext to her relationship with John, and who needed that in their life? Certainly not Elizabeth.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Things looked complicated now, but hopefully they'd get better soon.

* * *

They didn't.

She should have known that was going to happen. A week after the "incident," as everybody around Elizabeth was calling it, she was becoming intensely aware that any hope of putting the situation behind her was perhaps hoping for too much. She was just settling back into a routine, but things seemed off kilter, like she was doing the steps to a dance she'd half forgotten.

Things with John, especially, felt like they were locked in an awkward holding pattern.

One Sunday afternoon, long after dinner, Elizabeth returned to her office to find John perched on the edge of her desk. She paused briefly at the threshold, then squared her shoulders and entered. She doubted he'd missed the hesitation.

"What can I do for you, Colonel?"

As an afterthought, the formality stung.

John shrugged. "Nothing. Just stopping by to say hi."

Such a thing wasn't unusual, though they often turned more distracting than a mere hello. Still, today, she wasn't in the mood for idle chitchat when even conversations of pressing concern left awkward gaps of silence hanging between them.

She rounded her desk. "I'm actually really busy right now, John."

Most wouldn't see it, but there was anxiety in his eyes. Brief. Light. To her, entirely obvious. "Oh. Okay." He paused awkwardly, licking his lips. "Well, how about movie night tonight? Rodney's choosing the movie, so expect something science fiction."

Like she didn't have enough of that in her life.

"I can't tonight," she said, trying for contrite. "I really have a lot of work to do."

John nodded, and god bless him, she could tell he was trying. She wasn't even meeting him halfway. Guilt stung. A moment before he turned away and headed for the door, she almost called to him and changed her mind, but when she did, he turned back and she was struck, almost overwhelmed, by a memory of Thalan turning back to her (no, _Pheobus_ ) in a similar fashion. This time with a gun in his hand, aimed straight at her chest.

Elizabeth sucked in a breath, paling.

The attire was different; Thalan always wore crisp white uniforms, fitted and well groomed. The alien gun in his hand was polished, glinting against the light.

(Pheobus had always been the only thing messy about his life.)

"Elizabeth?" John asked.

She blinked and the imagery was gone.

She clamped her mouth shut and cleared her throat. "Nothing. Never mind."

She buried her head into paperwork until John relented, leaving without another word. After he left, she dropped the papers carelessly onto her desk and leaned back, breathing heavily. Her hands were trembling slightly, and she curled them into fists to stop the shaking.

It took a long while before Elizabeth felt in control of herself again.

* * *

"So," Kate began, legs crossed at the ankles. "How are you doing this week?"

"Busy," Elizabeth said. "I barely had time to make it down here, actually."

Kate paused, waiting for her to continue, but the silence stretched until Kate broke it again. "Dr. Weir, I know that these sessions are considered mandatory for you, but they'll truly be a waste of time if you don't speak up about what happened."

"No offense, Kate, but I've already spoken about it. It happened. I'm trying to get past it by moving on. The best way for me to do that is for me to get back to work. I'm sure John has said something similar to you in his sessions."

"We're not talking about Colonel Sheppard here, at least not yet. We're talking about you."

"And I'm fine," Elizabeth insisted. "Really."

* * *

Elizabeth paced anxiously across the room, wondering if she was going mad. The entire idea in her head was stupid – so reckless. She couldn't even believe that she was going through with this, except here she was, pacing in the sparring room, waiting for Teyla to show up for her routine practice.

By the time Teyla arrived, Elizabeth had nearly lost her nerve.

"Elizabeth," she greeted with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Elizabeth smiled back, tightly. "I need to ask you a favor. One that I need kept between us."

Ten minutes later, both women had changed into workout clothes, facing off against each other on the padded floors. True to her worst fears, when Elizabeth readied herself into a fighting stance, the familiarity of it was one that Elizabeth Weir had never known. Pheobus, on the other hand, had been a remarkable fighter. Despite the prospect of taking a beating, Elizabeth prayed that when they started, she'd remember none of Phoebus' moves.

"Are you sure, Elizabeth?" Teyla asked in uncertainty.

"I have to know, Teyla. I have to know just how much I remember."

Teyla nodded back, and then advanced – and then it was like muscle memory, except not her own. Elizabeth ducked an incoming uppercut and whirled, grabbing Teyla's arm to defend herself from a strike. Teyla rebounded by twisting Elizabeth's elbow, and Elizabeth sidestepped and crouched, using agility to break free. Elizabeth stuck out her foot, snagging the Athosian by the ankle but Teyla rolled into a dive and came back up on her legs.

"Impressive," Teya said.

Pheobus' technique was good, but far from flawless. "You're holding back."

"That doesn't make it any less impressive."

Elizabeth advanced, and they exchanged a series of blows and combination hits. She felt muscles strain and tighten. It had been too long since she'd worked out, and certainly never in hand-to-hand. The moves, though – they felt like second nature to her, blind and instinctive. They just weren't Elizabeth's instincts.

"Stop!" Elizabeth cried eventually, feeling winded.

They'd tested the theory enough.

Teyla walked forward, showing concern when Elizabeth doubled over in pain and exhaustion. The adrenaline pumping in her veins was a largely unfamiliar thing, but Elizabeth's forced her breath to even out until she could straighten up again. She faced the knowing look on Teyla's face with as much dignity as she could.

"Pheobus' influence still lingers?" Teyla said, like it was really a question.

Elizabeth's jaw clenched. "I'm not sure it'll ever go away."

* * *

Despite the fact that John had tried his best to keep the tension with Elizabeth from becoming obvious, by the end of that month, he was willing to bet the entire city had noticed it. Probably placing bets on how long the icy-front would last, too. It was hard to miss. They had quickly settled into a rut, and a new dynamic was established entirely without John's permission. Work, work, work, and no fun in between. Outside of meetings, their exchanges never lasted more than two minutes, and every time John worked up the courage about approaching Elizabeth and beginning any semblance of a real conversation, his tongue got hogtied.

Frankly, he was relieved to be sent off-world. Later that first day, when the team had been walking the meadows towards some distant village, Teyla approached him from the side, a subtle curiosity in her words.

"I did not see Elizabeth before we left. She usually wishes us farewell."

John tried not to flinch. "Yeah, well, we left early in the morning. It's always the busiest time of the day for her."

There was a pregnant pause. "It will take time," Teyla said, in a tone that was wise beyond her years. But then again, that was Teyla in a nutshell. "You both went through a lot."

He glanced over at her, then back at Ronon and Rodney who were bringing up the rear. They were out of earshot, thankfully.

"Have you spoken to her?" Teyla asked. "Have you tried broaching the subject of Pheobus and Thalan with her?"

John grimaced. "What's the point in that?"

Teyla sighed. "You both are going through something unnatural and difficult. You do not need to go through it alone."

He shook his head. "You don't understand. This will go away on its own. Carson says we just have to give it time."

"Are you sure?" Teyla asked, "Or is this just wishful thinking?"

John scowled a little.

He half turned away, sliding on some shades. If he focused right now, he could still feel the lingering presence of Thalan in his mind. It wasn't really a _presence_. More of an echo? It was like he was getting radio signals from a source that was half out of range. He'd get a burst of information every now and then, half static-y, and then the voice would just turn blaring, suddenly blocking everything else out.

And then there were the images and flashes of memory.

Christ, those were screwing with his head.

There was one he had that morning, actually. Before they left for the mission, John looked up from the gateroom floor to Elizabeth's office, spotting her profile through the glass walls. She'd turned, shedding her jacket, and he'd gotten the sensation that he was watching Pheobus instead, undress, the memory carrying the imagery forward until he saw Pheobus glance back, smirk at him as she undid some buttons to reveal a racy bra underneath.

He had enough trouble not thinking about Elizabeth that way, thank you very much. He didn't need the added taunting of a woman who bore her face and none of her inhibitions.

"It's nothing," he assured Teyla, with confidence he wasn't feeling. "Elizabeth and I will be fine."

* * *

Twelve hours later, in the middle of getting their asses kicked by a bunch of gun-wielding militia, John came to the sinking revelation that maybe they _weren't_ fine.

Rodney hunkered down beside him in a swamp of mud, whispering, "When do you think Elizabeth is going to send back-up?"

They'd been overdue for six hours. Normally Elizabeth's over-developed sense of paranoia, which often turned justified when it came to his team, would have goaded her into sending a team in after them already. The last few weeks, though, that heightened sixth sense she had with his team — with _him_ — wasn't as on-target as it used to be.

"She'll send them soon," John whispered back, before another burst of gunfire erupted.

Ronon reloaded his gun and threw John a look. "You sure about that?"

A fresh round of gunfire drowned out John's response, but it was for the best. His assurances would have been hollow. Another two hours passed by, where Teyla got knocked out cold, Rodney was shot in the arm, and Ronon and John were holding the line of defense by themselves and quickly running out of ammo. The natives grew in number and circled around them like vultures.

When they finally made it out of there, he could have claimed it was because of some well aimed grenades and expert military strategy, but the truth was it was sheer blind _dumbfuck_ luck. John dove through the Stargate just seconds before it snapped shut, and back in Atlantis, Elizabeth emerged from her office, oblivious, only to discover the state of his team.

"What happened?" Elizabeth asked, stunned.

He didn't bother to spare Elizabeth more than a few words before he was half-carrying Teyla under one arm to the infirmary because he knew she was too goddamn stubborn to use the stretcher like a normal person. He was muddy, exhausted and sore — but most of all, he was pissed as hell that his backup never arrived.

He hobbled to the infirmary to look after his team, but he refused to sit still long enough for his own check-up. He skipped out over Carson's sputtering protests, marching across the city and into her office.

He slammed the door shut after him without giving a damn about the spectacle it created. Behind her desk, Elizabeth looked up and then straightened, bracing herself for an argument. He didn't disappoint. John couldn't hold his anger in check because his sleeve was covered in Rodney's blood, and Teyla had been sedated, and he couldn't remember the last time Elizabeth hadn't been standing beside him in the infirmary when his team came back injured.

The fight that ensued was one for the record books.

It descended into yelling and stinging arguments, well beyond any professional or personal quarrel they'd ever had before. Twelve fucking hours of hell, twelve hours overdo, and Elizabeth had never suspected a thing was amiss. That had never happened before.

But somewhere along the way, the argument took a wrong turn.

"Your actions are gonna get us all killed!" he accused, disgusted. "You can't just act so _reckless—_ "

"Oh, that's rich," she scoffed. "That's really something coming from you of all people."

They were in each other's faces, and it occurred to him how close they were. Her lips were parted, breath coming in heavy from shouting, and the urge to throw her against the wall and kiss her was abruptly overwhelming.

"You're just as reckless as I am," she taunted in a haughty voice, stepping closer, all sultry and low. "I'm just better at it, Thalan."

The name brought both of them to a sudden halt, inches away from kissing or killing each other, he wasn't sure which. John blinked, and then they both jumped apart as if burned. _Jesus, that was… that was not us._ John scrubbed a hand through his hair, attempting to regain control.

"Oh, god," Elizabeth muttered in realization, in mortification. " _Oh, my god._ "

That argument had been all _them_ — Pheobus and Thalan. The shouting, the barbed insults, the cutting accusations and taunts of irresponsibility and recklessness. That wasn't like John and Elizabeth at all.

"We can't continue like this," Elizabeth breathed out, shakily. "I feel like I'm going insane."

"Yeah," John muttered, softly, just as thrown. "That was… that was intense."

That was one word for it. Even now, warring urges fought for control and, holy fuck, Thalan was a screwed up individual. How was it possible to hate someone so much, and still want to fuck them? He tried to scrub Thalan's feeling clear, but they lingered like cobwebs. John needed to get out of there. He needed to leave. With one last brief look towards Elizabeth, he walked out the door because if he stayed there for much longer, he wasn't sure what he'd do.

But by then, the damage had already been done.

* * *

"I understand you had an argument with Dr. Weir the other day," Kate Heightmeyer said, ballpoint pen resting delicately in hand. "Do you want to talk about it?"

John grimaced. "You know about that?"

Kate offered a small, sympathetic smile. "I heard about it through the grapevine."

Fantastic. That was all he needed at this point — gossip. "What are they saying?"

"Just that there was a fight. It seemed intense. You've been having issues with Dr. Weir lately?"

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. That was an understatement, and he knew, even though these therapy sessions were confidential, and that he had no choice in attending them, he couldn't really talk much about what was going on with Elizabeth. It was too… _personal._

"How many more of these sessions am I gonna have to attend?"

Kate raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to give you the same answer I gave Dr. Weir. These sessions will continue until I feel you're handling the situation well. How long is up to you."

John sighed. "I'm handling it just fine."

"Attempting to ignore it isn't a healthy way of dealing with this, Colonel. You will feel repercussions. Your relationship with Dr. Weir—"

"It was just an argument," John offered, defensively. "It happens."

"Have these arguments always been so vocal?"

"We see things differently. She's a diplomat, I'm career military. There are bound to be arguments."

"You didn't answer my question, Colonel."

He played dumb. "What was it, again?"

"Have your arguments with Dr. Weir always been so vocal?"

There was a long pause, and then John admitted, jaw clenched, "No."

Kate nodded, encouraging. "What do you think made it different this time?"

John shook his head, stubbornly. "We're fine. Really."

* * *

John figured denial was the best course of action, even though a part of him knew it hadn't worked thus far. He didn't see any other option.

A quick trip to Carson told him what he already knew: these lingering flashes of insight and memory would fade entirely, but it'd take time. John had never been the patient type, but especially right now because Elizabeth was right: this felt like he was going insane. It had been bad enough that he had his consciousness taken over for an entire day. He wasn't gonna let Thalan manipulate him any longer. Not if John had anything to say about it.

They just had to wait it out, let the discomfort run its course and then they could get back to how it was before.

Of course, this would be easier if he hadn't had another one of those dreams last night, hi-def and surround-sound, with added warnings for mature audiences because it had plenty of nudity and sexuality in it. The thing that made those dreams torturous, the thing that made them an absolute mindfuck, was that he couldn't separate Elizabeth from Pheobus in his head.

He had enough problems pushing way such thoughts of Elizabeth, as it was. She'd always been someone he'd tried very, _very_ hard not to think about, naked. That way led madness. Elizabeth took her responsibilities seriously, above all else. He didn't want to become one of those guys that forever moped after a woman he could never have, so he always did his best not to think about Elizabeth that way.

Mostly, he failed. But, hell, at least he was _trying_.

The thing with Thalan was not helping matters.

It was late in the evening the following day when he swung by the cafeteria and spotted Elizabeth sitting alone. He debated internally for a second before a large crowd jostled him from behind and practically propelled John forward. Before he'd even formulated a game plan and worded a greeting in his head, he was standing in front of her table with a tray in his hand. He had a smile that was plastered on, and felt like an idiot. Probably looked it, too.

When she looked up and spotted him, she tilted her head to the side, just a little, and a curl of hair fell across her eyes. Just like that day, when she was Pheobus. John mentally shook his brain to dispel the comparison.

"Hey," he greeted, settling into the chair opposite her. He disregarded the look of anxiety that flittered across her face. He glanced to the PDA that was nestled into her tray, eyebrow quirked. "What are you working on?"

She put her hand over the screen to cover it up from sight. "Nothing. It's not important."

But John knew that look and that tone, and he knew whatever it was, it was damn important. A month ago, he wouldn't have thought twice about reaching across to steal the PDA, and he wouldn't have hesitated about teasing her about working through dinner either. ' _Whatever it was,_ ' he would have told her, ' _it isn't going to self-destruct in the next half-hour so put it away._ '

A month ago, though, was a long time.

"Elizabeth, I—"

Her chair squeaked as it moved back. "I have to go," she cut in, rising from her chair and gathering her food to make a quick escape. "I've got work back in the office—"

"Elizabeth," he said, voice turning whining. He didn't care. He just wanted this awkwardness behind them and even if he didn't know how, exactly, to accomplish that, he knew running away wasn't going to solve it. "Don't do this. Just sit down. Eat."

She arched an eyebrow. "I've eaten."

Her bowl of soup was more than half-full.

"You can't keep walking away from me."

She dropped her gaze to her tray, and when she finally looked back up, her eyes were guarded and distant. "No. But I can't keep doing this with you either."

She walked away before John could figure out what "this" meant, but whatever it was, it wasn't good.

* * *

Two hours later, he got an email from Caldwell.

Caldwell threatened to send a report to the bigwigs back on Earth that detailed the nasty fight John had with Elizabeth, describing it as "outright insubordination, flaunted in plain view of others and with complete disregard to the authority and integrity that Dr. Weir's office holds." Caldwell did him the service of forwarding a copy of the report to John, attached with a note that added, "I take no pleasure in this, but you left me no choice."

Fuck.

But things went better than expected, even if he felt like a school boy due for a scolding when Elizabeth summoned both men to her office.

"Colonel," she addressed Caldwell from behind her desk, eyes pinning him with a hard look. Next to him, John shifted uncomfortably and almost felt sorry for the poor son of a bitch. "You have no right to go over my head to bring this up with the IOA and the Pentagon. It's a matter of my own command, and John and I will handle this internally. You have no authority in Atlantis unless I say so. It'd be best if you remember that."

Caldwell froze, a vein in his neck sticking out angrily. "With all due respect, Elizabe—"

"Right now," Elizabeth cut in, "It's best if you call me Dr. Weir."

It was only because of a fear of a court-martial that John bit back his grin.

While Caldwell continued in a hardened tone, trying his very best to verbally castrate John for his actions, Elizabeth sat stock rigid on the other side of the table and gave tit for every tat, and then some. John just kept his mouth shut the entire time, wondering what he was going to say to defend himself if either of them brought him into the conversation. Thankfully, they didn't, at least not beyond a few perfunctory "Yes, Sirs" dragged from his lips.

By the time the meeting was broken up, Caldwell was still pissed but the letter had worked its way into the trash. Assurances were made that an incident like that wouldn't happen again, and despite the fact that John had never liked Caldwell much, he made the assurances with the full weight of an oath. When Caldwell eventually stormed out, John turned back to face Elizabeth, finding her calm and collected, and just the tiniest bit smug.

The combination, he couldn't deny, was hot as hell.

Just when he'd thought things couldn't get worse, that there was no way he was going to pull himself out of this mess, Elizabeth reminded him why he had to work so hard on repressing feelings for her in the first place.

"You're welcome," Elizabeth offered, before John could voice his gratitude.

They still hadn't said one word to each other about the fight, but it seemed that when a common enemy presented itself, they both fell back into allotted roles. John was almost thankful to Caldwell for that — almost. He scratched the back of his neck, stretching his arm a bit.

"Elizabeth, about earlier…"

She sighed. "We have to deal with this somehow."

It was awkward to even broach the subject. "Thalan and Pheobus have," he froze, then corrected with a grimace, " _had_ a lot of issues."

"Agreed, but we… as much as we would prefer to never speak about this particular subject again, we can't ignore what's happening. We need to be able to work together, John. Whatever else is going on… that's something we can't compromise over."

"I know. I know." And he did. "It's just as nice as it was to have my boss back me up—" he cut himself off.

"What?"

He'd like to have his friend back, too.

He wouldn't dare admit that much out loud, though. It said too much, or something. John shifted in his seat, looking away as embarrassment washed over him.

John cleared his throat and attempted to regroup. "What do you have in mind? I doubt couple's therapy with Heightmeyer is gonna help."

She tipped him an amused smile, and then froze, growing thoughtful. The expression shouldn't have been so disconcerting, but slowly, as she connected gazes with John, he knew exactly what she was thinking before she even opened her mouth to voice the idea.

"Oh, no," John said, firmly, stubbornly. "No, no, no. I was _joking_."

"I don't like the idea either, but desperate times call for desperate measures."

John shook his head. "Absolutely not, Elizabeth. I'm sorry, but I'm revoking that option. I'm putting my foot down."

* * *

Turned out, his foot had no say in the matter.

John squirmed in his seat as he sat next to Elizabeth on the sofa, feeling like he was about to crawl out of his skin. Kate Heightmeyer sat opposite of them, forever the consummate professional, but that was exactly the problem. He didn't believe in this therapy bullshit. No offense to Kate's abilities, but talking about their feelings wasn't going to get rid of the lingering presence of two alien sociopaths in their heads. He doubted her training and education covered that.

"I'm glad that you've decided to give this an honest try," Kate said. "It's a show of progress that you're willing to acknowledge that there are issues you need to discuss."

John fidgeted in his seat. "I have a training exercise in an hour. I'd just like to point that out now. We're on a clock."

"John," Elizabeth hissed quietly, sending him a sideways glare. "I'm sure you can be a few minutes late. You aren't exactly known for your punctuality."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Two minutes into the session, and she was already nitpicking his faults. He'd actually _done_ this before, with his ex-wife. Couple's therapy was a complete joke, and it was all the more ridiculous here because he wasn't even a couple with Elizabeth. All the work and aggravation of these sessions, all the potential nitpicking and fighting, and there wasn't even a glimmer of make-up sex as a prospect.

He really hated Thalan and Pheobus on an epic level in that moment.

"So," Kate began, "What brings you two in today?"

"I have a deep-seated fear of the color red, and her shirts freak me out," John deadpanned. "That's not strange, is it?"

The look Elizabeth shot him was not amused.

Kate tried again. "Colonel, the more honest you are, the less time we waste. I know this may seem awkward, but I assure you, sometimes you have to go through a little pain for things to heal." She paused, briefly. "Why don't we start with the root of the issues? Tell me about the relationship between Pheobus and Thalan."

John and Elizabeth stared, neither willing to say a word. The silence stretched for several long seconds.

Kate slowly set her pen down. "Dr. Weir, why don't you start?"

"Oh." She squirmed. "Really, it was… complicated. There was so much bad blood between them. I don't think I've ever hated anyone as much as Pheobus hated Thalan. Then again… it wasn't just hatred."

John tried to add helpfully, "There was a time when things were…"

"Not as homicidal," Elizabeth finished, wryly.

It was more tactful than saying "intensely sexual."

"Can you expand on that?" Kate asked. "Were they once friendly?"

They both simultaneously shook their head no, because honestly, the term friendship never applied to Pheobus and Thalan, even when they were sleeping together.

Kate nodded, then raised an eyebrow. "Was it sexual?"

Elizabeth cleared her throat. "They had a relationship for a few years. It was on-again, off-again."

"How did it end?" Kate asked.

"She tried to kill me," John offered lightly, and then grimaced. "I mean, she tried to kill him. _Him._ "

Elizabeth paused. "Well, that's not entirely true. They broke up first, and then she tried to kill him."

John swiveled his head to stare at her, incredulous.

"I'm not saying that's any better!" Elizabeth argued, high-pitched and defensive. "I'm just saying, there was an order to it. He broke up with her, and then things got… awkwardly homicidal."

John continued to stare at her for a beat, before realizing that maybe, perhaps, she was right. It was a little hazy to him, mainly because the main memories he still retained were heavily centered around sex or trying to kill each other. But, yes, the last time they ended the relationship, it _had_ been Thalan's decisions. One of the few that John ever approved of in Thalan's life.

Kate picked up the thread and went with it. "Okay, so let's talk about that for a moment. Why did he break up with her?"

John startled, caught off guard by the question. "What? Why wouldn't he?"

Elizabeth looked a bit embarrassed, but after a beat, she squared her shoulders and turned to him. "Actually, I'm curious about that too. I mean, _I_ understand why that relationship was doomed from the beginning. But Pheobus? She never figured out why he ended it."

"Whose curiosity is this? Yours or Pheobus'?"

Elizabeth paused for a second. "Either? Mine?"

"Curiosity killed the cat, you know," he taunted.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Thalan should have been more worried about Pheobus killing him."

John snorted. Amen to that.

It looked like Elizabeth and Kate were actually expecting an answer, though. He thought for a brief moment about shrugging off the question, because he had enough trouble talking about his own relationships, much less those of one that ended over a millennia ago.

John raised a finger. "I would just like it on the official record that this _sucks_. I'm being asked to explain why one sociopath broke up with another sociopath over 10 gazillion years ago."

"Duly noted, Colonel."

He sighed. "They were on opposite sides of a war," he said simply, but that was a copout answer.

Elizabeth called him on it. "That didn't seem too big of a deterrent for all those years they kept… _seeing_ each other."

He turned to Elizabeth, opened his mouth, but he couldn't quite formulate a response. He couldn't fathom a lot of Thalan's decisions in life, but one thing he understood, perhaps far too well for John's own liking, was his obsession with Pheobus and why he had to end it. Say what you would about Pheobus, but she wasn't short on exhilaration. There was never a dull moment with her around, and that had an element of appeal to it.

Also, the sex had been _fantastic._

Elizabeth caught him staring at her. "What?"

The tips of his ears turned red, and he glanced away to Heightmeyer. "Just… they weren't good for each other. He always knew that. She was," he shrugged, searching for a word, "an addiction."

"Addiction?" Elizabeth repeated.

"How else would you describe it?" John responded. "And he needed to go cold-turkey. That's why he ended it."

It went on like that for the rest of the hour. By the end of it, John felt like he'd talked himself hoarse, though in retrospect he may not have done as much talking as he thought. It was a task unpacking the baggage of that much history, especially when he still didn't see the point of it. So, they talked about Thalan and Pheobus' _feelings_. What, exactly, was that supposed to solve?

Towards the end of the session, John wanted to ask if Kate was willing to sign off on releasing them from these mandatory sessions, but he felt like that might be pushing it. This hour had opened up a lot of can-worms.

He sighed, walking beside Elizabeth as they left Heightmeyer's office. "Well, that was a waste of time."

"I don't know," Elizabeth responded, trying for hopeful. "Maybe it wasn't?"

John grumbled as they entered an empty transporter, "The only thing it did was probably make it all the more clear to Heightmeyer how screwed up we are. We're never going to get out of those mandatory sessions now."

Elizabeth grimaced, and silence fell as the transporter doors opened to command control. She headed straight for her office, and he hadn't even realized he was walking her there. He had that training exercise to get to, but Elizabeth was right: he wasn't known for punctuality. He trailed after her up the stairs and when they entered her office, she went around her desk and picked up some folders that had somehow accumulated in the brief hour absence she'd taken from work. He really had no idea how she kept up with so much.

John stuck his hands in his pockets, leaning against her desk. "So… are we okay?"

Elizabeth snorted. "Therapy isn't magic, John. I don't think Thalan and Pheobus' memories will go away that easily."

They shared a look, and her amusement turned infectious. He grinned back, and god, it felt good to get her to smile like that. He suddenly felt something unknot in his stomach. He realized that though Thalan still lurked in the recesses of his mind, this was the first honest conversation he'd had with Elizabeth since this entire mess began. It felt absurdly good after weeks of awkward tension.

After a beat, he rose slowly and made his excuses to leave. Elizabeth nodded and shooed him away with a wave, and even as she opened her laptop to get back to work, there was a small smile on her lips. He walked out the door and down the staircase with, almost literally, a bounce in his step. He couldn't help but think they were finally on the same wavelength again.

Maybe this therapy stuff wasn't complete mumbo-jumbo, after all?

* * *

 _She drags fingers through his hair._

Her lower body is moving against the rhythm of his hand, while she releases these small, choked whimpers that do reckless things to his self-control. Her hands fist in his jacket as his fingers slid over her, into her, so fast, so easy because she's already so wet…and, fuck, he can't believe they're doing this.

Slow and unhurried, like they've got all the time in the world, he repositions them so that she lies underneath, staring up, eyes connected. Her hands curl around her pillowcase, and he focuses dimly on the way her fingers stretch up and then flicker as he grips her hips and rocks his body into hers.

Their movements cause the bedpost to thud against the wall as they shift, and the feeling building inside him drags another groan from his lips. Despite the slow pace, sweat breaks out across his skin, across hers, and her fingers are still clenched white-knuckled around the pillowcase.

"God, John," Elizabeth breathes softly.

John woke up with a gasp.

Fuck. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he attempted to regain control of his breathing. Regaining control of his body, on the other hand, was more difficult. He screwed his eyes shut, willing the frustration to abate, but the image of Elizabeth could not be scrubbed from his mind. John thought he'd gotten through these dreams already, but this one was different. This time, it was definitely _Elizabeth_ , not Pheobus, because Thalan would never have dreamed about being so considerate with Pheobus in bed.

That dream… it was more like making love than fucking.

This dream wasn't Thalan's doing. It was all John's.

Groaning, he lifted off the bed and went to the bathroom. When the lights flickered on, he found himself staring at his own reflection. What the hell was he doing? Though the ship had sailed long ago on this one, he couldn't help but think he was headed down a dangerous path. Elizabeth was his friend. She was his boss. Fuck, he really had to stop thinking about her like this. It was one thing for Pheobus to haunt him; this was different.

He was starting to feel like a schoolboy with a growing crush, and how pathetic was that for a man his age?

The thing was: a part of him had forever been curious about what it'd _really_ be like to be with Elizabeth – and not some alien hijacked experience. He'd entertained more than his fair share of idle fantasies over the years, but the curiosity had increased tenfold. Thalan had forced open the door with a crowbar, and now there was no shutting it.

The sinking feeling that he knew he wanted more from Elizabeth — wanted to be _with_ her — was perhaps an epiphany that had been building for months now. Maybe as long as he'd known her? It still hit John with the force of a train wreck, making him feel like the wind had been knocked clean out of him. The last time he felt this way about a woman, this confused and yet paradoxically certain, was with his ex-wife. And she became his ex for a reason.

It couldn't go that way with Elizabeth. It wasn't even an option.

Then again, he had never been the most cautious fellow when it came to women. His personal history had proven he was thickheaded and persistent, and he never backed off when he knew he should have (not when he thought he had even the slightest chance anyway). With Elizabeth, he tried for so long to keep these feelings buried, and they just kept growing. Was there any point to continuing this charade? Who was he fooling? Not himself, that was for damn sure.

That was when he realized it was time for him to do something that was just so typically John Sheppard in execution. It needed to be bold, he decided. Immediate. Maybe risky.

Entirely stupid, for sure.

* * *

Three weeks later, Elizabeth sat on the sandy beaches of the shoreline, staring out with wonder at the dark ocean that sheltered the horizon. The distant sounds of the Athosian festival, filled with laughter and plenty of alcohol, thrived not a few hundred yards behind her. The light from their bonfire was a sparkling red glimmer at her back, but Elizabeth simply buried her toes into the sand, enjoying the quiet solitude for a moment.

She loved Atlantis, but there was a quant charm to the mainland, and the Athosians definitely knew how to party.

The new spring was rolling around the corner, and with it, the new harvest. Teyla had invited most of the Atlantis personnel down to join in breaking the first bread in the festivities. Elizabeth had declined such invitations too many times in the past, and so this time she'd graciously accepted the offer. She was glad she did. Though a part of her was forever preoccupied with concern over what was happening back on Atlantis, she was less than a twenty minute jumper ride from home, and she couldn't deny it: it was nice to have a break once in a while.

And, god, the ocean – it was a breathtaking view, even here.

A few moments passed by as Elizabeth soaked up the peaceful silence and solitude, before company arrived. With the sounds of nearing footsteps, Elizabeth threw a look over her shoulder to discover John approaching her.

"You're not supposed to leave the party!" he chided. "Don't you know? There could be monsters out here."

"Monsters?"

He collapsed beside her. "You never know," he shrugged, then adopted a horrible pirate accent. "There be sea-creatures out there."

"You've been watching _Pirates of the Caribbean_ again?"

He made a face. "Christ, no. I'm not the one who's obsessed with Johnny Depp, remember?"

Elizabeth colored, though she couldn't deny the crush and never had. Even with the eyeliner. Silence settled in and reigned for a while, but it was the comfortable kind. She watched as John began rolling up the legs of his pants, planting his feet at the edge of the water, mirroring her. (The tide would soon come in, but for now they were fine.) He was wearing loosely fitted washed jeans and a blue shirt that hung open at the collar, and she was dressed equally informal in a light green dress that the Athosians had tailored specifically for her just for this occasion.

If felt nice to be so relaxed and causal.

"How's the party going?" she asked eventually.

"Rodney's drunk already, so I'm guessing it's a blast for everybody else?" John grinned. "He's pretty amusing when he's three sheets to the wind. Last I saw, he was singing a unique rendition of _'Oh, Canada'_ that I don't think I've ever heard before."

She suppressed a laugh. "He is not."

"Radek taped it for the amusement of the masses left on duty. I bet you'll see it on the Atlantis servers by sunrise."

Elizabeth knew it was a little evil, but she laughed. She also suspected that she and John were two of the only sober individuals at the party. It wasn't that she didn't like the Athosian wine. She did, a little too much. They packed a mean punch, but even now, with her technically off-duty, she couldn't quite loosen up enough to indulge in any excess.

She knew, despite any teasing from John to the contrary, that this was the same reason he hadn't had too much to drink himself. Of course, he also had a better tolerance for alcohol than her.

She glanced over at him. "What time is it?"

He threw her a knowing look. "Don't worry. We've got plenty of time before we have to get back."

"I'm not worried. It's just late."

"You sleepy?"

"Maybe. A little?" But that was a lie; she just wanted to get back to Atlantis soon. "It was a long day."

He rolled his eyes, grumbling, "We don't really have short days on Atlantis. C'mon, Elizabeth, relax a little. The world won't end if you take a few hours off."

She stopped herself from arguing the point further, but just barely. Turning back to stare out at the ocean, she took a deep breath but it probably came out sounding more like a sigh. She tried to put her mind at ease, but it proved difficult. It wasn't that she liked being so… _uptight_ sometimes. It was just in her nature, for better or worse. Being the leader of Atlantis wasn't something she switched off, even in her sleep.

"Stop worrying," John chided, as if he could read her thoughts.

She wondered when she'd become so fairly see-through. "Anybody ever tell you that telling a person to stop worrying doesn't _actually_ make a person worry less?"

"Anyone ever tell you that you think too much and need to live in the moment a little more?"

She hid a flinch, and turned her head away. Actually, many people had – including and up to Pheobus, who took a great deal of delight in pointing out all of Elizabeth's flaws.

' _Have a little fun, Elizabeth_ ,' Phoebus had taunted, while she'd been dismantling Atlantis' Halox System. ' _Life's too short for you to be so serious all the time. Trust me, I'm nearly ten million years old. Listen to my wisdom._ '

"Hey." John snapped fingers in front of her to grab her attention again. "Where'd your mind just go?"

She flushed, shaking her head. Over the last few weeks, Elizabeth had felt Pheobus' influence and memories start to slip more and more. She still had brief flashes of insight, but they were few and far between these days, thankfully. The fragments of Pheobus' life played out like a dream she'd once had, distant and fading.

Good riddance, too.

"You still feel her sometimes?" John deduced, astutely, "don't you?"

She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. She suspected it was the same for John, though outside of that one therapy session a few weeks back, they hadn't talked much about Thalan. It didn't really matter.

He was once again stopping by her office just as distractions; she was having lunch with him every other day. There was that movie night last week, and how their normal light flirtation and banter was just beginning to reemerge. It was starting to feel like old times again.

Though, she couldn't deny, there were these moments when she'd catch him staring at her. Elizabeth didn't know how to describe it, but… it made her pulse speed up every time.

"It's not that bad," she broke the silence. "It's not flashes anymore, they're just… memories. _My_ memories of her. The normal kind, I suppose."

"Yeah," John agreed, awkwardly. "It'd be great if we could just develop some limited amnesia, wouldn't it?"

God, that'd be nice.

This lingering discomfort was well past the point of ridiculous now.

Blowing out a puff of air in frustration, Elizabeth added, "She said the same thing to me, you know."

John looked confused. "What?"

"That I need to relax. That I don't know how to have fun."

"Hey!" John protested quickly. "I never said you didn't know how to have fun."

She threw him a look.

After a beat, John relented. "Okay, so maybe I did… imply it, a little. But the intentions behind it were totally different. She was being a bitch. I'm just concerned."

"Concerned?"

"All work and no play make Elizabeth have a heart-attack before the age of 40."

She snorted a laugh. "So you don't think I'm a fuddy-duddy?"

John paused. "Fuddy-duddy?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. A killjoy, if you prefer that term?"

"Yeah, see," he said with exasperation, pointing a finger at her. "I think the fact that you're a woman with three degrees in linguistics, and you're still using words like 'fuddy-duddy' pretty much proves you aren't the classic definition of a killjoy. Besides, I'm hanging out with you at the party, aren't I? I think that says more than enough."

She sobered at the thought, glancing sideways to study his profile in the moonlight. It did make her feel better that he'd chosen her company, when she was absolutely positive there were plenty of women (and even a few men) back at the party that would have enjoyed his undivided attention like this. It was warming to know that even the last month of torture hadn't damaged this part of their relationship.

Something about the way she was looking at him must have said too much, because he grew curious. "What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing, just…"

"What?" he encouraged.

She tipped him a small smile, half self-conscious. "This is nice," she said, simply.

She turned back to stare out at the ocean as her cheeks reddened, hoping he wouldn't press for any more of an explanation.

When she finally dared to turn her gaze back towards him, she found that he was staring at her with an intensity that made her breath catch. John wasn't a man that often spoke about his feelings, but she'd always been able to read him like an open book anyway. The flippant disposition was often a cover. Whether he was amused, embarrassed, angry, despondent or just plain bored, it had always taken her just a glance to tell. She knew him scarily well, and she knew that was probably why Pheobus had chosen him as the vessel for Thalan in the first place.

But right now, she couldn't describe the look on John's face, not even with her gift for languages. A man could look at you with desire, or he could look at you with respect. Rarely the two at the same time.

He leaned forward, but she pulled back, slightly. "John, what are you doing?"

He gave her a knowing smirk. "Proving to you that you aren't a fuddy-duddy."

And then, before she could recover, he closed the small distance between them to kiss her, lips moving gently over hers. Elizabeth forgot to breathe; she forgot how to think. It felt impulsive, _reckless_ , to do this, but the part of her brain in charge of preventing things like this from happening seemed to have been silenced, and she couldn't help but lean in a little, deepening the kiss. Her hand came to rest gently on his shoulder, steadying herself, and his lips tasted of that fruity tang from the Athosian wine.

In the year and a half that she'd known John Sheppard, she'd thought about this exact moment many times, sometimes despite herself. None of her daydreams — absolutely none of them — compared to reality. It was also absolutely nothing like the kiss that Pheobus had given Thalan, using their bodies. Intense and thrilling, Elizabeth felt like she was slipping, melting into his embrace bit by bit. There were a thousand reasons to stop this, but in that moment, reason had abandoned her.

The tide came in, lapping saltwater at their feet, but neither really noticed.

* * *

  
 **Epilogue**

The evening after the Athosian party, Kate Heightmeyer still felt like she was working through the worst hangover in her entire life. Unfortunately for her, work continued.

She gathered her notepad and sat down quietly, opposite Colonel Sheppard and Dr. Weir, and plastered on her most professional smile. To be honest, she was a little exhausted after a full day of work, and these two tended to be more obstinate and challenging than the average case. Of course, they were both, in their own way, her bosses, and Kate wasn't about to admit to either one of them to not feeling up to today's session.

It was perhaps for this reason that it took a moment for Kate to realize that Dr. Weir's mood seemed different today. Lighter, perhaps? In fact, Col. Sheppard also seemed relaxed. Which was a just strange, considering she'd never seen Sheppard at ease in one of her sessions before.

It occurred to her that they were probably so upbeat today because they expected this session to be their last. If things looked well enough, Kate wasn't opposed to signing the slip of paper that released them without further restrictions.

But first she had to make sure things were going well.

"So," Kate said, trying to maintain the image of a consummate professional while a dull headache throbbed at her temple. "How have things been going between you two lately?"

Sheppard shrugged a little, glancing sideways at Dr. Weir. "I don't know, Elizabeth. How have they been going?"

"Well," she said softly, with a smile, "It's been… good. We're good."

"How so?" Kate encouraged.

"Oh, you know," Sheppard answered, "we're just settling into a new routine. Trying to get a rhythm going."

Well, that was promising. Most people never benefited from therapy because they refused to realize that sometimes you couldn't go back to the way things had been before. This was a healthy outlook.

Almost too healthy.

"A new routine?" Kate pressed. "I take it that means you're not attempting to pretend like the last few weeks never happened, then?"

"You could say that," Sheppard said, with a subtle smirk.

Kate glanced from Sheppard to Weir, then back to Sheppard again. There was something off about them; she couldn't tell what yet. They kept glancing at each other, sharing covert glances that weren't as covert as they thought. It looked like Elizabeth was sending him a glare, warning him off from appearing so… _smug?_ What, exactly, was making him so happy today?

Reality dawned on Kate, and she bit her lip.

 _Oh._

She'd always heard rumors about these two, but Kate had been far too perceptive at her job to fall for them. Clearly, something had changed. She took a second to scribble something meaningless into her pad, using the moment to regroup. How was she supposed to handle this? Was she supposed to do anything at all?

After a beat, Kate tucked a hair behind her ear. "I'd like to take this moment to once again remind you that these sessions are private, and anything you say to me will be held in complete confidence. Even from the SGC, the IOA, or any other three-letter acronym you could think of. I take my oath seriously, and I'm here to listen to any issues you might want to address."

Elizabeth froze, clearly realizing that Kate had caught on. "Okay."

"So," Kate encouraged, "If you two have anything to say or admit to me, it will remain private and confidential."

They exchanged another look with each other, communicating silently in a way that Kate found, frankly, a little impressive.

"We're good," John said for them. "Really."

She was going to reserve judgment on that. It didn't remotely surprise her that they had fallen into a relationship, and neither was it surprising that they wanted to keep this new development a private thing, even from her. But it did make things tricky to navigate.

The hour slowly passed by, but the more she studied them, the more she realized that whatever had transpired between them, the shift had definitely improved their moods. She hoped that wasn't just the first stage of romantic bliss; those feelings of euphoria were often fleeting. Of course, this also opened up a whole new set of complications. Kate would have to keep an eye on that. She wasn't opposed to romances in the workplace, but this _did_ present potential problems in the chain of command. Emotional decisions made things messy.

Nothing was ever really clean in the Pegasus Galaxy, though.

"So," Sheppard said, "any chance we can get that slip of paper signed?"

Kate sighed. "Honestly, I'm not sure. You two have made great strides. I'm not denying that. But the point of therapy is to be honest with yourselves, and I'm not sure that—"

"We understand that you're frustrated, Kate," Elizabeth cut in. "We understand that it might be difficult for you to feel like you're not getting all the answers from us that you'd like. The truth is, both John and I are incredibly private individuals. That's exactly what's made the last few weeks so torturous for us. I understand your frustration in our inability to share with you… certain details. But…"

"But what?" Kate prodded.

"But we're being honest with ourselves," Elizabeth said. "And we're being honest with each other. Isn't that the part that really matters?"

Elizabeth must have been spectacular as a diplomat, because Kate really couldn't argue her way out of that logic. She stared for a beat at Elizabeth, then swiveled her gaze to John. He seemed content to sit there and let Elizabeth do the talking for him. Wise choice.

After a beat, Kate rose and went to her desk. She pulled the drawer open, grabbed the two forms in question, and then scrawled her signature at the bottom. She handed one to each of them.

"My door is open anytime you want," she reminded them.

"Thanks, but we're fine," Elizabeth reassured.

For the first time since these sessions began, Kate actually held the faint hope that maybe those words weren't just a cover. She watched as they left, and then Kate collapsed into a chair. She reached for a box of Tylenol and a glass of water, downing two pills quickly. Despite the obstinate hangover, Kate couldn't stop thinking about Sheppard and Weir. Even with all the potential complications those two had ahead of them, she couldn't deny it – she was happy for them. It lifted her spirits a little, actually. All right, Kate admitted it to herself. She was rooting them on.

After all, Sheppard and Weir weren't the only two people in the city that were hopeless romantics.

* * *

  
 _fin_


End file.
